A Raven and a Writing Desk
by Alydia Rackham
Summary: Alice's voyage to China isn't what she expected, especially when she and her crew come across a plundered, burning ship. Why does the shocked, silent man she rescues remind her of Hatter? And could his ruthless pirate foe be the banished Red Queen?
1. Chapter 1

_This story is dedicated to Kitty LaFrance, as a graduation gift. Hope you like it my dear—and I hope all the rest of you do, as well! The poem used within is by Lewis Carroll. Please leave a review, and enjoy the adventure!_

_VVVVVVVVVVVV_

A Raven and a Writing Desk

_A Sequel to Burton's_

_Alice in Wonderland_

_ONE_

When Alice watched the butterfly flutter past her and dart up to dance among the rigging, she had truly believed that the flash of brilliant blue was Absalom. But as the ship's bells rang and the sailors shouted, and a strong, salt-scented wind rushed through her golden hair, she had found herself hoping it was not. For the sea was no place for a butterfly—especially one that was her friend.

That feeling was now compounded as she lay in her bed in her small cabin, staring at the ceiling and feeling the ship pitch and tip beneath her. She had to admit that she had not anticipated getting—and staying—seasick. But a new, cold sweat broke out on her brow as the ship swayed to the side once more. The cabin was dark and stuffy, but according to the shouts of the sailors above decks, water was coming over the railing—and Alice had no desire to be swept overboard, no matter how sick she was.

She stiffened her spine as the room reeled, and took tight fistfuls of the bedcovers. She gritted her teeth, wanting to growl in her throat. Even if she did venture outside, the sailors—or worse, the cold young Captain Kerbeck—would order her below as soon as they saw her.

The merchant seamen had not kept it a secret that they considered a woman to be bad luck aboard ship—she had endured many impertinent remarks during the first few days of the voyage—but Captain Kerbeck had quickly silenced them. At first, Alice had been grateful to him—until the blue-eyed, wheat-haired captain had called her into his cabin and told her that he did not appreciate her presence any more than his men did, but her passage was at the request of his employer, Lord Ascot, and therefore he must endure it. However, he then informed her that she was to stay out of the way and keep to herself as much as possible during the months-long journey. A week of such solitude had now made Alice lonelier than she had felt since her father died.

Exhaustion now swept over her as she squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the sight of the shadowed wooden ceiling. This storm had been raging for two days and three nights already, and she had not been able to sleep during any of it. And now, even as her eyelids grew so heavy it was impossible to open them, Alice felt she was on the verge of lurching out of bed and retching everywhere. She swallowed hard. Her tongue was dry.

"Think of something else," she rasped, her mind spinning. "Something calm and peaceful and…_still_."

For a moment her thoughts flailed through the darkness, like a candle down an unfamiliar corridor, but then she latched onto a memory of a place, like an anchor on a reef, and without hesitation, she plunged into an imagining of it.

To her surprise, she found herself standing at the height of a blade of grass, wandering toward the towering, long tea table where were accustomed to sit the Dormouse Mallymkun, the March Hare and the Mad Hatter.

The March Hare hopped in his teetery chair when he caught sight of her, and immediately began twitching more vigorously than usual.

"Look at this handsome fork," he declared, pointing at Alice with an unsteady claw. He then twisted and looked at her with one eye. "No, I was wrong. 'Tis a butterknife."

"Of course it is," Mallympkun piped up. "Couldn't you see that before?"

"You both are being utterly ridiculous—stop it this instant," a familiar, cheerful voice lisped, and two giant worn boots thudded down in front of her, shaking the ground. Alice jerked back. The wearer of the boots bent down to her, and Alice beheld the beaming white face, emerald, offset eyes and wild, scarlet hair of the Mad Hatter. He ran a wrapped finger across the brim of his fantastically tall top hat and winked at her.

"No, you're entirely wrong, Hare. This is the loveliest Chinese fan I have ever seen. And she's come for tea!"

"Tea!" the other two chorused, and their cry was promptly followed by the crash of a shattering saucer.

"So kind of you to drop by, Alice—we were just talking about you last week." The Hatter held out his hand to her. She reached up and grabbed his forefinger with her tiny hand.

The next instant, she felt herself rising, growing, and even as the Hatter pulled her forward, she soared up to her usual height, and her hand slid into the Hatter's, and was wrapped up in his warm, calloused fingers.

"There was something I've been meaning to tell you for the longest time; very important," Hatter said as he tugged on her and began to trot away from the table, the scarf on his hat fluttering behind him.

"What is it?" Alice asked, speaking for the first time. He stopped suddenly, turning back to her, a startled frown on his face.

"That is the trouble, you see, I've…Well, I've had a great deal of difficulty already…" He turned and began pulling her again.

"I am here, now. I am listening," Alice assured him, distressed at the furrow of his brow. She hurried her pace and caught up to walk beside him, but kept hold of his hand.

He slowed, and at last stopped them atop a grassy hill. The sky was purple behind Hatter as Alice studied his flickering eyes. His hand squeezed hers.

"You understand, don't you?" He raised his eyebrows. "This note is traveling through mirrors and fog and glass—not to mention water and sky—so you can imagine that the phonograph won't play a very clear melody." He smiled hopefully. Alice stared at him. His smile faded. He leaned toward her.

"Do you remember, Alice?"

"Remember what, Hatter?" Alice asked, holding his hand tighter, for he seemed to be drifting away. He blinked, his voice quiet.

"Why a raven is like a writing desk."

Alice almost smiled.

"Of course not. You said yourself you didn't know."

His eyes looked worried—sad. It frightened her.

"It's the key, you see, that unlocks the door. The only door," he said.

"What door, Hatter?" Alice's heartbeat sped up. His fingers were sliding out of hers. The edges of his lips curved upward.

"_They__ told me you had been to her,"_ he murmured, his voice distant._ "And mentioned me to him; She gave me a good character…" _His hand pulled out of hers altogether, and his tone lowered to a whisper._ "But said I could not swim."_

"Hatter? Hatter!" Alice screamed, suddenly overcome with panic.

Hatter, tumbling backward, threw his hands up to cover his face, and wicked flames leaped up around him. Alice wailed at him, but the heat forced her back. Fire and water swallowed him, and drove Alice up and out of Underland. 

Alice jerked to a sitting position, sucking in air as fast as it would come, her wild gaze darting through the dark.

The cabin was still. Her throat closed and she listened. All was quiet outside. The storm had stopped.

A shout from above cut the silence. She twitched.

"Ship ahoy! Captain, Captain!"

"What, what is it?" came the gruff answer.

"Captain, a ship off our starboard side!" the lookout cried. "She's on fire!"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_If you like it, please, please do leave a review! They help me to continue! :D_

_VVVVVVVVVVV_

TWO

Alice flung herself out of bed, a shaky hand reaching for her housecoat, which was draped over her trunk. She threw it on, managing to tie the sash before she yanked open her door and pattered in her bare feet up the stairs. The cool breeze hit her face and rushed through her hair as she arrived on deck. A deck that seemed lit by the fires of hell.

The rigging sails and masts were bathed in deep, orange light that flickered like the eyes of a cat in the night. Heat billowed over her, and she swung to face the starboard side. Her eyes widened.

Framed against a night as deep as ink, a three-masted frigate sat dead in the water, listing to its port side. One mast was broken, its sails dragging in the water, and the upright sails were aflame. Great pieces of the railing had been blasted off, and gaping holes, like gunshot wounds, peppered her flank.

Desperate shouts issued from the burning deck. Alice clutched her housecoat around herself as seamen darted back and forth in front and behind her, barking to each other about lowering the dinghies.

A flicker of movement caught Alice's eye—a bald-headed, bearded man grasping a shred of rope atop the poop deck of the burning ship. He cupped one hand around his mouth and cried:

"Please hurry! We are taking on water!"

"Patience, man!" Captain Kerbeck roared, sweeping past Alice as he pulled his hat down over his stern brow. "We will be there in minutes."

"We don't have that long!" came the hoarse answer. "She's sinking!"

Alice's gut clenched, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

_They__ told me you had been to her, _

_And mentioned me to him; _

_She gave me a good character, _

_But said I could not swim… _

Captain Kerbeck gave the command to lower the boats down into the water. As the pulleys squeaked and groaned, the captain buttoned his blue coat and called to the man across the way once more.

"Are there any other survivors on board?"

"Yes, sir—the helmsman has been shot in the shoulder and is lying by the wheel!" the bald man shouted. "And the textile man is somewhere below—he wouldn't come out!"

The captain straightened.

"Go below and get him!"

"I cannot, sir!" came the answer. "I've been hit in the leg—and the water is already deep down there!"

"He is probably dead, anyway," the captain muttered. Then he addressed his men—ten of which were in two boats already on the water, and three more were in a boat ready to be lowered. "Bring back the bald man and the helmsman and get off that ship."

"What about the textile man?" Alice gasped, stepping up to him. He turned to her. She could not see his eyes for the shadows, but the dark lines of a frown formed on his brow.

"Miss Kinglsey, kindly return to your cabin."

"But he said the textile man was below, he can't just—"

"_Go below_, girl," the captain snapped. Alice clenched her jaw.

"Captain Kerbeck," she said coolly. "I will be hanged if I allow you to speak to me like that, no matter the circumstances." And she swept past him, straight for the boat that was only halfway lowered.

"Miss Kingsley—" the captain tried, following her. "Miss Kingsley, it is very dangerous. You must not—"

She ignored him, climbed over the rail, slid down and dropped into the boat. Her feet thudded against the light wood. The men inside yelped, the boat banged against the side of the ship, but she quickly sat down and the swinging stopped.

"Keep going," she ordered to a wide-eyed sailor. "The ship is sinking, after all!"

The men shot a few helpless glances up at their captain, but aside from his mouth tightening, he showed nothing on his face.

"Go!" he barked, waving an arm. "The other boat is halfway there."

And so they kept lowering, and the bottom of the boat met the rocking waves of the pitch-black ocean. Quickly, the men took up the oars and began to paddle.

As they neared the broken ship, the roar of the flames grew louder, and the heat blew back Alice's hair. The reflection of the blaze danced across the water, making it seem as if they were drifting across a lake of fire. The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air. Alice grew cold. What had happened to this ship?

"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" the bald man cried as they drew near to one part of the flank that was not burning. The sailors leaped up the side, using the handholds.

"Stay here, miss," one of them said to her.

"_You_ stay here," she retorted, jumped past him and clambered up to the tilting deck, ignoring his stunned look. She crawled over the railing in time to see the bald man, his head glistening with sweat, limp toward them across the angled deck.

"The helmsman," he panted, pointing behind him to the aft part of the ship. "I tried to lift him, but…" He trailed off, and swayed. One of the sailors grabbed him.

"Get him onto a boat!" another instructed. The ship groaned beneath their feet, and one of the still-upright masts creaked. Alice grabbed one of the stray lifelines to keep herself from tipping.

Two sailors assisted the bald man toward the railing, and the others rushed across the deck—littered with the bodies of dead men—to where the helmsman was supposed to be. Alice froze as her gaze drifted over the carnage. She swallowed hard.

"Sir," she said, her voice cracking. Forcing her muscles to work, she whipped around to face the bald man. "Sir, where did you say the textile man was?"

He blinked listlessly at her, on the edge of consciousness.

"Aft, and below," he managed. Alice did not wait. She clawed her way aft, ignoring the bodies, using the remaining lines and the railings to keep herself from slipping overboard. The masts above her groaned like a man who has been stabbed, and the heat smothered her—she felt as if she was inside an oven.

She knocked a broken door aside and caught herself before she fell down a leaning flight of stairs. Bracing both hands on the narrow walls, she called down into the darkness.

"Hello? Hello, is anyone there?"

She heard the slapping and hissing of water in reply. A great shiver ran through her. What was she doing? She could not possibly go down there—it was surely full of water. She needed to turn around and get back to the boats…

_She gave me a good character, _

_But said I could not swim…_

"Hello?" she tried again. The ship moaned once more. But then, something caught the edge of her hearing. She went still.

It was a voice. A voice, down below. She bit her lip and plunged downward, steadying herself with both hands. Her feet thudded on the wooden stairs.

She plunged into cold water, knee deep. She yelped and jerked back. Her eyes darted around her. It was almost completely dark…

Except, at the end of an almost completely sideways hall, a little light flickered.

And a low, tight voice murmured.

"If I or she should chance to be

Involved in this affair,

He trusts to you to set them free,

Exactly as we were."

"Ho, there!" Alice yelled, stumbling forward, one foot on the floor, now, and one foot on the wall. She came to another door, and kicked it aside. Her eyes took in the contents of the room in an instant.

A lit lamp hung from the ceiling, completely askew. Reams of brilliant fabric were strewn all over, most of them on the floor and beneath two feet of water. Two trunks hung open, and one cabinet stood, leaning back against the wall that was most tilted. And on the other side of it, as if hiding behind it, Alice saw a figure.

Barely a shoulder and an arm, and a white hand, grasping something. She splashed forward, her footing uneven because of the spilled goods, and she pushed the ajar cupboard door out of her way.

A man stood there, his black hair hanging in his eyes. He had handsome features, from what she could see, but his head was bowed and shadowed. He wore a dark coat and trousers, and his arms were wrapped tightly around a tall ream of scarlet fabric.

The ship gave a mighty shudder. The man's arms tightened around his fabric.

"Sir? Sir, you must get out of the ship. It's sinking," Alice said. The man said nothing. It was then that Alice realized that the entire right side of his face was covered in blood—and the door of the cupboard bore the same. He had hit his head.

"Oh, no," she whispered. The room shifted. She stumbled. Water rushed in, slithering like snakes around her thighs. There was no time to waste.

She grabbed his hand. His head jerked up. Black eyes, deep and brilliant, met hers. His lips parted, and his brow twitched.

"Please, you really must come with me!" She squeezed his hand with both of hers and pried it off the fabric. He resisted, for one horrible moment, and Alice knew she could not fight his strength.

And suddenly, his hand softened. He stared down at her pale fingers, holding them in his like he would a delicate saucer. And then his eyes flashed up to her again, searching. She grasped his hand hard and tugged.

"Come now!"

And he yielded.

He dropped the fabric and tumbled after her as she pulled him across the nearly sideways room. Water came up to their waists now, and she was almost swimming rather than walking. The darkness threatened to drown them as she kept hold of his slippery hand. Salt water splashed in their faces.

The lamp behind them went out.

And then the ship keeled over.

Alice screamed as the hallway fell sideways, sending them thudding onto their shoulders. The next instant, water flooded over her head and spun her around, crushing against her chest.

Her head smacked against the upside-down ceiling. She sucked in a reflexive breath and salt water plunged down through her lungs. Her vision blurred, faded.

The last thing she remembered was two strong arms wrapping around her and tugging her upward.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_I forgot to tell you that the poem the stranger was murmuring is by Lewis Carroll. Thank you for all the reviews so far, and keep them coming! Enjoy!_

_VVVVVVVVVVVVV_

THREE

Alice came to sharply, gasping and spitting water. Her hands clenched a small railing, and she was chilled and soaked to the bone. She shivered hard, and blinked the salty water out of her eyes.

She sat inside one of the little boats heading back toward the flickering lamps of the _Lane_, Captain Kerbeck's ship. Alice coughed again, gagging water out over the side. A hesitant hand rested on her elbow. She turned, and pushed a strand of wet hair out of her face with quivering fingers.

The man she had found below the deck of the burning ship sat right next to her—equally wet and disheveled—but his bright eyes watched her, his features soft.

"Well, lass, I hope you had your fun," a crewman growled as he paddled. "You nearly got yourself killed—and what would the cap'n have done to _us _then, eh?"

Alice's lips were too cold for her to retort. She settled for throwing him a drenched glare. Out of the corner of her eye, she almost saw the stranger smile. Her gaze found him again.

"What happened?" she stammered to him, another shiver running through her. The stranger started to scoot toward her, but halted. He still kept his hand lightly on her arm.

"This man pulled you through one of the cannonball holes," a sailor said. "We caught sight of you just before the sea took the last of the fire."

The first sailor laughed.

"Aye, she went off half cocked, to save _him_—and _he _had to drag her out of the water like a drowning cat."

Now, as all the sailors on the little boat laughed heartily, the stranger's hand closed around her arm, and the soft look on his face transformed to one of danger, aimed at the first sailor.

She laid her cold hand on top of his. His eyes flashed to hers. She managed a crooked smile. For a moment, she just gazed back into his eyes, wondering why he would not speak. And then she saw that he was still bleeding—profusely—and water mingled with the blood that ran down his face. She winced. The salt had to hurt his wound.

The next moment, they reached the side of the _Lane_. The sailors attached the boats to the pulleys and hoisted them jerkily up, until the sailors could climb out onto the deck. They turned and helped the stranger out, and then he turned and gave his hand to Alice. She accepted it, feeling as though she might collapse at any moment.

However, all thoughts of herself fled when the stranger swayed toward her, his eyelids fluttering. She leaped forward and caught him, trying to bear his weight. His arm fell across her shoulders, and she wrapped her arm around his back. She heard both of them dripping seawater onto the clean teak deck.

"What's the situation?" Captain Kerbeck asked, striding up to them, heels tapping. Alice could see him more clearly now, by the light of the lamps. His steely eyes darted up and down both her and the stranger.

"He's been hit in the head," Alice said. "He needs attention."

"There's no one better than yourself to give it," the captain replied, then turned to bark orders at two hustling crewmen. Alice's mouth fell open.

"Me?"

Kerbeck turned impatiently back to her.

"Ship's doctor is engaged in treating the two men who have been _shot_. The helmsman is on the edge of death."

"But—"

"Miss Kingsley," Kerbeck snapped. "If you wish to interfere in the business of the ship, you ought to be prepared to accept the _responsibility_ of the business of the ship. Take him to your cabin. Jones will bring you a bandaging kit." He swept past them. The stranger leaned heavily on her.

"But—" Alice tried again. The captain answered over his shoulder.

"We are far from the Empire, Miss Kingsley. The niceties and proprieties you are used to are luxuries that cannot be observed here."

Alice gritted her teeth.

"Niceties and proprieties…" she muttered. "Codfish." She adjusted her grip on the stranger, and grasped his left wrist, so she could more easily bear his weight by means of his arm. Then, she started forward.

"Come on," she encouraged. "It's not far—just down these stairs…"

He swayed again, and it took all her strength not to buckle beneath him. Biting her lip, she maneuvered him down the narrow stairs, through the pokey hall and to the door of her cabin. She pushed the door open with her toe and urged him inside.

It was completely dark in there. Luckily, she knew the room fairly well, and guided him to her trunk, where he thudded down into a sitting position. He groaned.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, turning and fumbling for a match. She lit a lamp, which illuminated most of the room, and carried it closer to him. He closed his left eye against it. Now she could see him fully.

His eyebrows were very dark, and expressive. He had a straight nose, a strong jaw and cheekbones, but a soft, unique mouth and the blackest eyes she had ever seen, and long lashes. But the skin of his face was completely white, and the blood stood out like a deadly stain. Alice hung the lamp up on a hook just above his head, and leaned toward him. She reached out, then hesitated.

"May I?"

He kept his left eye closed, and only glanced up at her for a moment. Stepping closer, Alice stretched out her hands and ran her fingers gently through his raven locks, probing for the wound. Her fingertips met hot liquid.

He hissed through his teeth and jerked away.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Alice cried. Both his eyes closed, and he caught one of her hands—his hold was very gentle—and he directed it back up toward his head.

"Are you sure?" she said. He did not answer. Leaning down again, wishing for more light, Alice combed his hair away with his fingers, and found the wound—a cut on the right side of his head, two inches long. Alice sighed, wincing.

"I wish the doctor were here…" she whispered. He kept both eyes closed, slumping a little. Alice kept combing the hair away from the wound, ignoring the way her fingers were turning crimson.

And then she stopped. She frowned. Two long locks of his hair, on the left side of his head, were a striking shade of orange-red. She had never seen a feature like that on anyone—not in Overland, anyway. But in this light, they appeared like bright ribbons against black velvet. Like the scarf on the Mad Hatter's top hat…

He shivered. Alice blinked.

"Are you all right?"

He took a small breath.

"_A wee bird sat upon a tree,_ _When the year was dune and auld," _he said, his voice hoarse, a Scottish brogue coloring his words. "_And aye it cheepit sae peetiously,_ _'My, but it's cauld, cauld.'"_

Alice stared at him a moment, then stood up straight.

"Oh! Are you cold?"

His eyes met hers for an instant, but the look he gave was rueful. She turned and darted to her cabinet and flung it open, then pulled out a thick blanket her mother had given her.

"Take off your wet jacket, if you please—it will help you get warm," she instructed, holding the blanket up. The stranger reached up and unbuttoned the front of his coat, then moved to pull it off. But his hands went limp and his head rolled back. His jaw muscles clenched.

"Let me help you," Alice said, tossing the blanket down on the trunk and tugging on his sodden, heavy coat. With a little help from him, she managed to pull it off and hang it on a hook near the door. He wore a loose white shirt beneath, which would dry quickly. She picked up the blanket and swept it around his shoulders, then wrapped it tight around in front of him.

She felt him watching her as she secured it in the front. She lifted her face, which was not far from his, now. She could see herself reflected in his eyes—yet his gaze seemed to go straight through her. She canted her head.

"Do I know you?"

He blinked, and said nothing.

A knock came at the door.

"Miss?"

She stood up.

"Yes?"

The door swung open. A seaman held a wooden box and a bowl of water out to her.

"Here's a bandaging kit. The doctor can't see him this evening—he is extracting a bullet from the helmsman. Tricky business."

Alice swallowed, trying not to let her vibrant imagination go down that path. She took the box and bowl from him.

"Thank you so much."

He nodded, then left, shutting the door behind him. Alice crossed back to the stranger, feeling the ship sway a little beneath her. She set the bowl and box down on the trunk beside him, and moved to grab her little stool.

"Miss?" the seaman stuck his head back in through the door.

"Yes?"

The seaman leaned on the doorframe.

"The bald cook says this man's name is Taryn."

Alice glanced at the stranger.

"Taryn what?"

The seaman shrugged.

"He didn't know."

"All right…" Alice murmured as the seaman left. Alice pulled the stool over and sat right in front of the stranger, then opened the box. She found a white cloth, dipped it in the water, squeezed it out and lifted it up to "Taryn's" face. He stared at nothing while she gingerly wiped the blood off his cheek, nose, eyelid and brow. She rinsed out the rag, squeezed it, and started again. As she worked, she began humming the tune to "Greensleeves." It seemed fitting. Her mother always had done the same when she was cleaning Alice's wounds after she had tripped and fallen as a child and skinned her knee.

When that was done, Alice reached inside the kit, pulled out a thicker cloth, folded it up and pressed it against the wound itself. He hissed again, but did not twitch, so Alice kept it still. She then found other lengths of thin cloth and, while holding the thick bit with one hand, bound the thin strands around his head as tightly as she could without making it uncomfortable for him.

"So…your name is Taryn," she said as she secured the bandage and sat back to see if she had done well. He did not look at her. She washed her fingers off in the bowl of water and dried her hands. She canted her head at him.

"Why on earth didn't you come out when the ship began to burn?" she asked. He blinked slowly, his gaze still distant.

"Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water," he murmured. "Jack fell down, and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after."

A lump formed in Alice's throat. Had this man's mind been damaged by the hit he took on the head? Reflexively, she brushed a stray strand of hair out of Taryn's eyes, her brow furrowing.

"Are you warmer now?" she asked. He did not reply. Sighing, she reached down, took hold of his hand again, and tugged, rising to her feet. He followed suit, one hand holding the blanket around his shoulders. She pulled him over to her bed, he sat down on the edge of it, then swung his legs up and, grimacing, lay back onto the many pillows she had. Alice threw another blanket over him, for he still looked dreadfully pale. She drew the stool over and sat down, unsure of what more to do. The lamp above them swayed back and forth. Taryn watched it.

Alice then realized that she was still completely soaked, and cold as well. She grabbed another blanket and drew it around herself, and leaned against the side of the bed. She played with a frayed bit of the sheet next to Taryn's hand. Silence fell.

A draft came through the door, and the lamp went out. The cabin plunged into darkness. Alice swallowed, but her bones felt heavy, and she did not have the strength to get up and find another match. She was still cold, and salt stung the back of her throat. She closed her eyes, fighting back the memory of what she had seen on that burning ship…all those broken bodies…

"Thank you for saving me, Taryn," she rasped. The ship creaked and groaned as it sailed through the now-calm sea. And fingers found hers, and closed softly around them. Warm, calloused fingers. Alice smiled in the dark, something tugging on the edge of her memory, but before she could think on it, her head had drifted down to rest on her arm, and she fell asleep.

TBC


End file.
